


Philosophical Differences

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Ex Sex, Los Angeles, M/M, Romance, Shakespeare, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-05
Updated: 2010-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pintolives.jpg">that photo</a>. You know the one.  Features Simon, John, Zoe, and truckloads of schmaltzy angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philosophical Differences

**Title:** Philosophical Differences  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Zach/Chris  
 **Author's Notes:** Inspired by [that photo](http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pintolives.jpg). You know the one. Features Simon, John, Zoe, and truckloads of schmaltzy angst.

 

 

"It's awards season," Simon says, "and that means anyone who's anyone is flocking to LA. Not that I let that stop me, obviously. So." He leans over the table to hear better. "What's up with you then?"

"The daily grind continues to grind me daily," John says.

"That's what she said," Simon nods. "Go on."

" _But_ your smiling face has definitely brightened my day."

"Oh right, right. Yeah, that television gig must be terrible for you, John."

Zoe catches the end of that on her way back to their booth and laughs. "Why did we invite this guy out with us again?" she asks John, slides into the bench next to him and hands him a freshly brimming mug of American something.

"Beats me."

"Hey, hang on," Simon says, "I valiantly braved the elements on a long and arduous journey to be with you lot. They were showing 'Did You Hear About the Morgans?' on the plane. In _first class_ , no less. _Honestly_ . . ."

"Sounds like torture," Zoe says, rolling her eyes. She sips indelicately at her delicately girlish drink, and Simon likes how contradictory that is. Zoe clears her throat. "So, _Simon_. Seen 'Avatar' yet?"

John flails a little in the background, mouths _Say yes say yes!_ to Simon.

"Weeeell, you know, it's on my to do list, right? And—"

Zoe thwacks him.

"What? I'm busy! We're all busy, I mean, even Chris hasn't seen it yet and he's actually got easy access to IMAX cinemas."

Zoe waves it off. "Oh, the only reason he hasn't seen it is because the 3-D makes him motion sick."

"Yeah, that's gotta be it," John deadpans, and it's a struggle for Simon not to laugh. John's awesome. "So, when did you see Chris? He's ludicrously busy, and _he_ doesn't even have a television schedule or an ocean in the way of socialization. Or, like, an inflated blue alien head."

Zoe hits him too for good measure and Simon smiles at her across the table.

"Well," Simon says, "apparently he's not too busy to drop by tonight, and I'm sure you're all anxious to grill him as soon as he shows up. God, what time is it anyway?"

"Wait," John says. "You invited Chris?"

"What do you mean you invited Chris?" Zoe demands, building on John's Serious Voice intensity.

Simon raises an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I invite Chris? I thought this was supposed to be a Star Trek convention?"

" _Zach_ is going to be here, Simon," John explains.

"Ye- _ah_ ," Simon says. "Kirk and Spock? Would it not be a bit weird _not_ to invite them both?"

Zoe's face meets palm and John shakes his head. "They don't do so well in the same room at non-official functions," John says. He turns to Zoe. "Remember when Chris found out Zach was going to the DVD release thing?"

Zoe grimaces sympathetically, sips her drink.

Simon's face must look ridiculous. "I'm . . . I'm not . . ." He blinks himself back into cognizance. "You couldn't just have _told_ me they'd broken up?"

"It was _months_ ago," Zoe says. "We assumed you knew."

"I'm not in on your elitist Hollywood gossip, guys. Come on! I mean, they were so nauseatingly lovey dovey. I mean, it literally made me sick to my stomach . . ."

Zoe rolls her eyes, which Simon usually finds endearing but is quickly becoming annoyed by.

He knocks back a good portion of his beer for something to do. "So what happened?"

"Oh, God, don't get me started," Zoe says, the pinnacle of dramatic.

"Seriously—don't," John tells him under his breath. "Zach dumped him months ago and she's still all bent out of shape over it. Probably more than Chris is."

Zoe makes a face into her drink. "You mean that Chris dumped Zach," she says.

John makes the same face, laughs, "No . . . I was under the impression that Zach decided their relationship was too much effort or, you know, or something like that, I don't really know all the gruesome details, but . . ."

"No, John, listen to me—Chris was an asshole to Zach over something he refuses to disclose and that's the whole reason why they broke up."

"Okay, maybe, but, what, like Zach can't be an asshole? Anyway Chris said that Zach dumped _him_. He was pretty clear on that."

"No, _John_ , Zach said—"

" _So_ ," Simon interjects, "do either of you _actually_ know what happened? Hm? Anyone?"

John and Zoe look at each other, look like fish.

Simon laughs.

"Oh, shut up, Simon," Zoe says.

John's thinking hard into his paltry beer. "Chris always says they separated because of 'philosophical differences', but that sounds like a load of high brow deflection to me. It's hard to know what he's really thinking, sometimes."

Zoe shakes her head. "He's so angry, anymore."

John snorts. "Yeah, maybe because Zach dumped him, I dunno."

"No, listen, _John_ . . ."

"Oh dear," Simon mutters.

"Listen," Zoe repeats, sweeping her glare over to include Simon too. "Zach said Chris was really selfish toward the end and that he couldn't deal with it anymore. You know how Chris can be."

"Yeah, and I also know how Zach can be. He probably shut Chris out and Chris got pissed and Zach decided that was him being 'needy' or 'demanding' or something."

" _That's_ what Chris thinks?"

"No, I dunno. He's kind of irrevocably pissed at Zach, though, that's for sure."

"Hey, guys? Guys?" Simon reaches across the table to take one of each of their violently gesturing hands in his. "Ever think that maybe it's none of our business?"

There's a beat. Simon nods encouragingly.

"Yeah, you're right—"  
" _Of course it's our business!_ "

They both look at Zoe.

"What?" Zoe says, deflates a little. "Don't judge me because I care about my friends' well being. I'm just really sorry that they didn't work out. So, you know, it bugs me that I still don't know what happened between them."

She really does look pretty downtrodden, so Simon might squeeze her hand a little before letting go.

" _Anyway_ ," John says, squinting at his phone and in the background again. "Chris just texted me that he's not coming now, so."

Simon watches Zoe take solace in her drink, follows her gaze out into the bustling bar. "I wonder if Zach will show up," she says.

*

Zach sighs, distracted. "I don't know, Chris, I've gotta be leaving in like 15 minutes, can't you just call a cab or—?"

"No. I mean—" Chris waits for Zach to shut the faucet off, weirdly loud over the phone. "Yeah, I could, but you're so close and, as you said, there isn't much time. Zach?"

"I just . . ."

"What?"

Chris can hear him opening drawers on the other end, hears him walking on hardwood and knows he's gone from the bedroom to the hallway. "Like, it's just like, I don't think it matters a whole lot whether you're exactly on time."

"This isn't a big deal, Zach. Well, it _shouldn't_ be . . ."

"It's not a big deal," Zach says, defensive.

"So stop acting like it is. We're gonna have to figure out how to coexist again one of these days, you know . . ."

"Yeah yeah, I know. And normally I'd pick you up, Chris, but, it's just that—"

"'Normally'? Okay, well, let me know when our lives are 'normal' enough for interaction again, all right?"

"Hey, Chris, come on—"

"I _highly_ doubt there're gonna be paps staked out at some random party, Zach. But, whatever, I'll find a ride . . ."

"You don't have to be like that, Chris. Come on, I'll be there in half an hour, okay?"

Chris laughs. "Sure you will."

"Hey, _you_ called _me_ , remember?"

. . . Okay, so Zach's got him there. Chris shakes off the tension, too used to automatically contradicting him. It's hard to come up with original thoughts that aren't angry reflexes. "If you don't want to see me, then I don't want—"

"Stop it. I'm coming over soon, okay?"

Chris sighs and hangs up.

Zach does come over soon, meets Chris at the door and it's not nearly as awkward as expected. He smiles and _looks_ apologetic, at least. It throws Chris off a little so he ducks back inside for a scarf. It's gotten chilly with nightfall.

"Thanks for the ride," Chris says on the way to the car, before Zach can get up the courage to ask how he's been. He doesn't want to have to answer that.

"No problem."

And that's all they say until Zach stops at a red light and Chris becomes obsessed with overanalyzing things like Zach's cologne and how many days old his stubble is and which shoes he's wearing, the pattern of hair on the back of his wrist and his fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

"So, are you really doing that Spielberg thing?" Chris asks.

Zach laughs. "What, are you stalking me?"

Chris laughs, testing, and it doesn't feel too weird. "So are you?"

"Hopefully. I'm sick of TV," Zach says, eyes trained on the road because he's an extra safe driver before going out in order to make up for being careless later in the evening. It's a nice way to avoid looking at Chris without being obvious about it, and Chris is grateful. "What about you? What've you got going on?"

Chris shrugs. "Lots of speculation, mostly."

"Well. That's good, though."

"Yeah." Chris wonders if Zach's having as much trouble remembering their restricted level of familiarity as Chris is. It's hard not to shoot his mouth off, but on the other hand Chris can practically taste how badly Zach wants to say _I told you so_. "You were right," Chris mutters.

"About what?" He's insisting on nonchalance.

"You're gonna make me say it, Zach? Seriously?"

Zach doesn't respond for a minute. Then, "I may have been exaggerating, but yeah, I was kinda right."

Chris _wants_ to be angry, but . . . "I may hate the paparazzi more than you, now." Except that Chris hates them because whenever he so much as thinks he sees the flash of a camera it's like a punch to his gut accompanied by Zach saying _I told you so_.

"Nah, I just hide it better."

Chris laughs. "I miss . . . Like . . ." He gestures ineffectually.

"We can still hang out, you know. We could've gone to that Trek thing the other night."

"Yeah. Wait, how did you know I didn't go?"

"How did you know _I_ didn't go?"

"'Cause I know you and I know how you go to extremes to avoid conflict."

Zach keeps in character and avoids addressing that, focuses on the road for a bit. "I never meant that we should break up," he says. "I just meant . . ."

"It's okay. I get it now."

They pass the remainder of the ride in a silence that's not exactly amicable. They used to be able to do that, too.

"You're right, though," Zach says as they pull up. "There won't be paps here."

"Yeah," Chris says.

*

When Chris first sees the cameras he freezes in shock, too blindsided to react until Zach tugs him into motion. They make a break for Zach's car with Zach's friend whose name Chris had promptly forgotten, and Chris keeps his head down and keeps focused on his destination. When they finally make it inside Chris is still blinking spots of nothing out of his vision and Zach snaps at him to put his seatbelt on. Whatshisname laughs from the backseat but unfortunately this is the least amusing moment of Chris's life and his levity is not appreciated.

Zach drops his friend off and goes blackly silent and Chris's heart plummets to his stomach. _When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions_ , indeed.

Chris clears his throat. "So. You're pretty much poised to bite my head off if I so much as utter a word, huh?"

"Not your fault," Zach says, but it does little to disguise his frustration. Zach is fucking scary when he's really mad since it's such a rare thing. He rounds a corner too sharply and Chris lurches sideways.

"Hey, I don't think road rage is gonna help the situation," Chris says, getting properly annoyed.

"If you hadn't badgered me to pick you up this never would have—"

"Thought it wasn't my fault, _Zach_ . . ."

"Oh, _God_. See, this is exactly the reason why we can't . . . God, you know that, right?"

"Yes, I'm aware. Don't act like this was some grand scheme of mine to sully your 'image' or—"

"Excuse me for taking my career seriously," Zach mutters.

"Okay, why don't you just fucking drive?"

" _You never listen_ , Chris," Zach says, louder. "Whenever I try to have a candid conversation with you about, yes, our respective 'images', you just wave it off like it doesn't actually have an impact, but it sure as hell does."

"Yeah? Well, there's no juicy gossip to broadcast on fucking Entertainment Tonight or what the fuck ever _now_ , Zach, so I hope you're happy."

"Okay, you know what—?"

"I mean, come _on!_ Whenever the paparazzi decide it's a good day to harass me I'm always getting coffee or running errands in old clothes or like, returning DVD's or other stupid shit—"

"Yes, Chris. And if we were always seen together they _would_ have something to report about. It's pretty simple."

"I just don't understand why you're so afraid of the truth. Your aversion to being honest with yourself and others isn't endearing, Zach, it's fucking pathetic."

"Not everyone wants to deal with all the shit that comes with coming out," Zach says, laughs unpleasantly. "Like you're one to talk," he adds under his breath.

"Excuse me?"

"You're so far in the closet it's kind of sickening. At least I don't actively try to hide it."

"Um, yes you do. It's basically how you function in every aspect of life."

"At least I don't tote around random girls and flirt with everything remotely female like my life depends on it. Just saying."

Chris stares vigorously out the window for a moment, trying to keep it bottled, and failing: "Do you not understand how much I tried for you? I was willing to do whatever and you weren't. You didn't. You just didn't _want_ it as much as I did. I stuck my neck out and you just . . . God, Zach, you get why I'm not gonna let this go, right?"

Zach swallows. "I already told you I was sorry," he says, tries to shove everything under the rug in one fell apology while he drives and won't won't won't look at him.

"No—I'm sorry you care more about your persona than people."

Zach sighs. "You really wanna do this, huh? I have _friends_ —"

"You have contacts, Zach," Chris corrects. "You have strategic  
acquaintances and networking, not friends."

"That's _fucking_ unfair, Chris," Zach says, tapering off and sounding hurt enough to make Chris regret it and rejoice in it at the same time. "I didn't want you to get caught in the crossfire, and, huh, now you are anyway so—"

Chris talks over him: "You just assume that if we were seen together the world would automatically pick up on the nature of our relationship. But that's not how it works!"

"Oh really? Okay, so remind me again what happens whenever they catch you and Olivia out together."

"We're just friends!"

"I know. And, as you like to point out, I'm so ridiculously gay that any guy I'm seen with is an instant boyfriend. If _we_ , as costars and people who have been seen together already—if they saw _us_ together doing all your stupid errands, which are stupid on their own, they'd label us in seconds. They'd label _you too_ , Chris, how do you not understand that? I don't want you to—"

"You're so fucking full of yourself—"

" _You_ know how they like to pair up costars. They fucking live for it."

"Okay, fine, but you know what, Zach? They _have_ decided you're gay without my help. You've done that on your own, and Being Seen with _anyone_ would make it worse, so don't put this on me. It's not my fault you're never gonna get normal roles. You can't play straight without some weird additional element to excuse how off it seems. Avoiding relationships— _causing_ relationships to disintegrate isn't gonna change how people perceive you." Chris can't resist leaning into all that meanness—it's thrilling in how terrible it feels.

"At least I'm not a generic pretty boy with a resume made of shit."

Chris opens his mouth to defend—

"No, shut up. Nobody's ever gonna see you as anything other than a mindless pretty face. And kind of a douche. There. Are we even yet?"

Chris laughs quickly to cover up how much Zach is getting to him. "Did we _ever_ get along?" He can feel Zach looking at him but he just refuses to—

"Look at me, Chris."

Looks at him, mouth goes dry at the remorse on Zach's face.

"This is why we don't work," Zach says, seems to remember himself and turns away. "Wish we did."

"Yeah," Chris says.

The car rolls to a halt outside Chris's house. His street's dark and abandoned in a calming sort of way, cool and lacking in artificial flashes of light. Chris stares at a tree swaying minutely in the breeze and remembers about nature. It doesn't register for a minute that Zach's just said something.

"So _do_ you want me to walk you inside?" Zach repeats.

Chris tries to force a laugh but fails so there's just an additional beat of awkwardness. "Think I can make it," he says.

"You sure?" Zach asks the steering wheel.

". . . Yeah," Chris says, tears himself away before he can think for too long, walks rapidly up the driveway because the sound of Zach's car turning off and the door closing is so magnified on the empty midnight street.

"Are you sure that's what you want, Chris?" His footsteps.

"Yep." Chris forgets to get his keys out en route and has to rummage around for them frantically at his front door.

"Why don't you just let me walk you inside, Chris? It's not a big deal." Zach's voice is gaining on him.

"I'm good."

"Open the door," Zach insists, speaking into Chris's ear.

And Chris seems to go on autopilot then, like the pitch of Zach's voice is some subliminal trigger, gets the door open somehow and lets Zach in and lets Zach's hands run up his arms to grasp at his shoulders and keep him there, as though Chris could even conceive of moving away. Can't think, looks on from somewhere far away at himself giving up. It could even have been Chris who closed the distance and kissed Zach first.

Zach's tongue slips into Chris's mouth and his hands into his hair and a warm shiver overtakes him. Someone makes a soft sound into the kiss and it seems to propel them into motion.

Zach undoes Chris's scarf on their way down the hall, fluid with practice, and Chris gets Zach's jacket off with the momentum of the spinny way they round a corner, just in time for Zach to lean back in and kiss him. Chris falls against a wall, cool and solid behind him in a way that accentuates the warm supple aliveness of Zach's body. Zach, who's so adamant and real that Chris is glad to succumb if only because it takes some of the responsibility off of him—he didn't initiate this, he didn't technically invite Zach inside or give consent or say a damn word, but Chris wants him here so badly that he _has_ to find a way to blame it on Zach. He's failed somehow, otherwise.

Chris knows he's losing his mind, can only loop his arms tight around Zach's neck and get lost in time—taste, sound, heat, little snatches of memory.

"We're really doing this?" Chris gasps between kisses.

Zach doesn't answer because that would make it true, grapples with Chris's shirt, tries to get his own off without incident at the same time. Chris helps him pull their shirts out of the way and the fabric's unfairly reluctant, like it's trying to warn him.

Zach cups his face in both hands to kiss him, distracting him from thinking clearly, and his skin's perfect and overheated but ornamented with the cold shock of his belt buckle, expensive watch, his glasses digging into Chris's cheekbone until Chris has to push them up and out of the way into Zach's steadfastly gelled hair. Zach makes a disgruntled noise that melts into a moan when Chris's other hand palms at Zach's cock through his pants.

Chris's heart rate doubles impossibly at the characteristic way Zach's head bows, mouth falls open, brows knit, meets Chris's eyes with a hazy lustful look under fluttery lashes—he slots into the worn out memory so easily that Chris wonders for a moment if he's dreaming.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it, though, because Zach's kissing haphazardly at Chris's neck and jaw, now, panting against the wet skin and grinding into Chris's hand.

Chris figures it's time to stop thinking. At least, the part of his body that's taken over with the thinking does, so he escapes from the limbs pinning him against the wall enough to drop to his knees and get right to work on Zach's belt, buckle still bafflingly icy from being outside. He unzips Zach's pants, loud and mixed with the sound of Zach cursing breathlessly from above, yanks the tight material down over his hips and trails his hands up Zach's thighs to make him shiver before leaning in and mouthing at his cock through his underwear.

"Mmmfuck, please, Chris," Zach whines, trying to arc into the stimulation.

Chris holds his hips still, nuzzles against Zach's groin and looks up at him. "So impatient," he chides, licks a stripe along his straining cock through the fabric again before pulling it carefully out of the way to tease him properly, tongue flicking lightly under the head. Zach's head falls back and Chris continues to kiss vague wet suctiony kisses over Zach's length, relishes the taste and the feel of it in his mouth, heat, urgency. Zach tries to thrust again and Chris just lets his cock slip past his lips all of a sudden, glimpses Zach's eyes going wide and feels his ensuing moan, grins ineffectively around his cock and sucks hard the next time Zach jerks his hips forward.

Zach tears Chris's hands away after a minute, twists them behind his back and tries to move him somewhere. Chris makes a questioning sound that turns into a groan when Zach gets him against the wall again, leaves Chris's arms scrunched behind his back. He strokes himself and watches Chris regain his balance with such dark, addictive eyes. Chris licks his lips studiedly, glances between Zach's face and the sight of him touching himself inches away.

"Come the fuck on," Chris murmurs.

Zach's hands dip into Chris's short hair, encouraging and punishing at once, and Chris sucks hungrily at the pre-come smeared head of Zach's cock brushing over his mouth. _Mm_ 's, and that's it—Zach thrusts in deep and Chris does his best not to choke, sucks on the backstroke and looks at him whenever Zach pushes in again with a groan, maneuvers his tongue to lick into the leaking slit, whimpers in the back of his throat and lets Zach take what he wants.

Zach holds his cock in Chris's mouth for one final, prolonged thrust before pulling back to gasp for air as desperately as Chris does.

"You wanna come on my face?" Chris pants. "Or, do . . . ? I. You wanna fuck me now? Tell me what you want, Zach—" Zach pulls Chris to his feet, surprisingly strong when he wants to be, and Chris sways and blinks dazedly at him, the heady taste of him on Chris's tongue and the smell of his cologne magnified by sweat—unfairly overwhelming.

"I'm too close to, to think," Zach says blearily, battling with Chris's fly. "Just let me touch you. God."

Chris isn't prepared for the rough, huge-feeling hand wrapped around his neglected cock, shouts and tries to press himself closer to Zach even though that would impede his ministrations. "Yeah," Chris breathes.

"Chris," Zach says, even quieter, finds Chris's wrist and brings his hand to Zach's saliva-slicked cock. "Mm, yeah, Chris . . ."

He can't deal with Zach's voice so ragged and familiar. "I can't believe you fucking left me like that, Zach," Chris says, feeling careless and desperate with his oncoming orgasm.

"Ugh, you really need to shut up." Zach strokes him faster. "Like that?"

"Mmmmm, fuck. Zach. Zach, _God_. Fuck you . . ."

"Shh, please. _Stop_." And his voice breaks.

" _Fuck you_." But he clings to him tighter instead.

"Please," Zach breathes. " _Please_ shut up."

So Chris shuts up, matches Zach's pace and gets more choked off vowels from Zach and thrusts into his hand and wants to cry with the way Zach's free hand keeps their foreheads pressed fiercely together, groans and comes right after Zach does instead, waiting for him like always.

They collapse inelegantly against the wall, limbs twisted and uncomfortable and bodies sticky with the aftermath. Zach's glasses have slipped down from his hair so Chris pushes them up onto the bridge of Zach's nose where they belong, lets his fingers trace Zach's face and lips and jaw unthinkingly while they breathe.

Chris forces his eyes to stay open, builds up too much anticipation for the moment when Zach looks him in the eye again and whatever words come after that. But Zach speaks with his eyes still tightly shut and his arms still firmly around Chris instead:

" _Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,_ " he says, laughs kind of sadly. "So what the hell is this?" Pulls Chris closer like he can't help it.

"Don't even worry about it. Shakespeare didn't know shit."

Zach laughs again, opening his eyes this time.

Chris thinks, _I wish I knew how to quit you_ , pathetic and clichéd, but goddamit he really wants to know.

"When are we going to get through this phase?" Zach sighs, and Chris can't sort out exactly what he's referring to. _Let me not to marriage of true minds admit impediments_? Well, too late for that. Zach blinks at him, rubs Chris's bare shoulder with his thumb and sets his mind racing: They can't get along, they can't agree, their values are too different and their lives are too similar— _too close_ —and, just, the way they feel about one another is debilitating and unfair and _habit_ -forming—

"Hopefully never."

*


End file.
